


hope is a terminal, featureless smoke

by entwinedsouls



Series: handle with care [2]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Break Up, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Walsh - Freeform, Fluff, Heartache, Heartbreak, I Love My Babies, Law School, Light Angst, M/M, Oliver - Freeform, Oliver Hampton - Freeform, POV Connor Walsh, Self-Acceptance, Self-Denial, Self-Reflection, coliver - Freeform, happiness, little boys that deserve more what the fuck, ok, soft, what, what else do i tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 16:06:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12136086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entwinedsouls/pseuds/entwinedsouls
Summary: The frail relationship he had woven with his bare hands was not enough, and even the strongest vessels break under pressure. He’d given in to Connor’s charm again and again just to see the relationship last another day. He would’ve done anything.In this part, you see things from Oliver's side of the table, you read his thoughts and you hear his heartbreak. Thankfully, you also get to see him find himself again. Less heartache, more soul-searching and self-realization.





	hope is a terminal, featureless smoke

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I know of a couple that had dynamics of this sort, and coliver (during that season and episode) were giving me the ~feels~, and I wanted to give Ollie more of a voice. I think it's really important to never lose sense of self even when you're deeply engrossed in a relationship, and I felt like coliver hadn't achieved that yet in their relationship (CLEARLY) so here goes nothing!

**_hope is a terminal, featureless smoke_ **

Too much. It was all too much.

The more you have to give, the more you have to lose—the cycle is an endless, tireless one; until you run out of things to give, out of cards to play.

Oliver never knew what missing someone was supposed to feel like until Connor happened. Until he left. It was the sudden realization that he had given too much that made him pull out.

What does missing someone feel like?

It is…a clench in your gut that you _just_ can’t let go. If you, like Oliver, tried to bury the tugging sensation with workload on top of workload, you will later find out that it did no good in muting the part of you that wailed for you to go back.

Oliver hasn’t realized that yet, or at least he is pretending not to.

He goes to work day after day until it no longer feels real anymore, and day after day he insists to himself that eventually he’ll get over it. It never felt real in the first place, no, too good to be true would be the most accurate way to put it.

The days go by like clockwork: the same colleagues, the same job, the same miserable office. It’s all _the same._ Routine is tiring but it’s really the only refuge you have when your thoughts won’t shut up. Today it seems that it isn’t going so well for Oliver.

His mind buzzes relentlessly, ruthlessly. And Ollie has it bad because he can’t douse it out with a warm beverage like coffee—it fuels his thoughts.

Oliver puts up a fight, he types on, determined to think of anything _but_ Connor. Needless to say, he fights on the losing side of the battle and eventually, he gives in to his flood of thoughts.

And they come as an entanglement of emotion and fragments of memories, all of which are too much to comprehend. Oliver’s mind has always operated in system and codes, line and order. He isn’t quite familiar with jumbled up thoughts.

As he brews himself a cup of coffee—defeated, a man needs his coffee—he picks every detail apart. It’s protocol: analyze, identify problem and solve.

**_Part i: how_ **

To say that Connor hitting on him was a miracle would be understating it. Of course, there was always an ulterior motive; but unlike so many others that had come and went previously, Connor had chosen to stay. And it was supposed to be a good thing, except it wasn’t.

it was cancer, every moment of it. Sickeningly good was the time they had spent together, but not good enough to stop Oliver from second-guessing what everything was supposed to lead to, like he always did. (his mind was always two steps ahead, strategizing his next most rational move.)

being the person he was, he knew most good things in his life had a tendency to leave the moment he started latching on. Things like love, happiness and above all, Connor.

Oliver was smart though, he had a way of dealing with it, the inevitable separation and loss of Good Things. He would see it coming and he would weigh out the risks, calculating the amount of effort to put in, finding a way to make sure it wouldn’t hurt quite as much when the Good Thing left.

The problem with Connor was that Oliver _didn’t_ see him coming. He was caught off-guard, unprepared. He didn’t know how much effort to put in, so he gave it his all; that is, until he knew he’d given too much.

He’d forgiven Connor in hopes of making things work again. He tried, he really did try to save what they had, but it was too much.

The frail relationship he had woven with his bare hands was not enough, and even the strongest vessels break under pressure. He’d given in to Connor’s charm again and again just to see the relationship last another day. He would’ve done anything.

Oliver’s fingers glide over the black keys. Typing the same codes, thinking the same thoughts.

He takes an occasional sip of coffee and he hates it, he hates that it tastes like Connor and he hates that everything seems to find a way to remind him of Connor, he hates that it was, he hates it all.

But what is there left to do other than to reminisce and grief?

**_Part ii: why_ **

In between lines of JavaScript, Oliver’s mind wanders to places his body cannot reach nor go to. It went to the empty apartment, the diner they’d always buy takeout from, the bar where they met…And he would wonder if Connor thought of him too.

And then there is the question his mind can never run from: why?

If you were looking for the simplest answer then this is it: he was confused.

Where Connor was so sure of himself, Oliver just felt like he wasn’t enough for anyone; which led to him falling victim and caving in to Connor’s charm. Everything was about Connor, and maybe that was what love was supposed to feel like—reckless infatuation—but the longer it went on, the emptier Oliver felt.

He’d gotten his self-worth all mixed up with Connor and the validation and…The sex. That was all the relationship was built on: spur of the moment decisions and the _rush._

It was nice to an extent, but when he started to feel incomplete without Connor it felt wrong. The sappy romance novels he’d read didn’t have anything on dependence and the almighty insecurity.

People in love talk about pouring out their souls into someone else, but they don’t mention the feeling of being hollow in the middle—when you’ve given up too much.

 Surely that has its consequences too. If it did, then this would be it. Feeling like you are nothing without another wasn’t so much romantic, let alone _normal_.

If you’d ask Oliver about the part of himself he loved the most then, he would’ve said Connor without a second of doubt; and that’s why it was wrong. So he left. He wanted to be complete again. He wanted to build his self-worth on something that was a little more concrete—to be his own person.

Oliver’s workplace is a quiet one, so his thoughts got much louder, putting the crunch and click of keyboards to shame.

It all felt like a big time out. Some time to think clearly again, without the distraction of heart. A deep breath out of water.  It was hard—there’s no denying it—but it was by all means necessary.

**_Part iii: when_ **

When will it stop?

This broken faucet of thoughts, when will it stop? It has only been a day and yet Oliver feels like he’s been floating in his ocean of thoughts for a whole eternity.

The same questions circle him and at this point he didn’t know if this was what he had in mind when he decided to take a break.

When they were together, every day felt like the last good day to Oliver. The entire course of the relationship felt like treading on a tightrope, every move was to be gone over countless times—it had to be perfect or everything could end in a matter of seconds.

For a while it was okay, _it was love_ , Oliver had to remind himself.

The fact was that there was too much at stake, things at stake included: 1 heart.

Oliver loved with all his heart and so did Connor, but Oliver found himself at the waiting end of the line far too often. Waiting…For Connor. For his love to be reciprocated, for his effort to be acknowledged.

Most of the time Connor loved back as well; in slow waves of affection and crashing tides of lust and want. He gave Oliver the occasional dose of validation and appreciation he needed and Oliver let himself be consumed by it.

If Oliver could pinpoint the moment he was aware of how much he needed Connor it would be the night Connor had called dinner off because of a case he was working on. Oliver had went the extra mile to conjure up a four course meal that night, only to get a text message from Connor letting him know how sorry he was.

The worst part was that Oliver wasn’t mad at all, not one bit. He’d made up enough reasons to justify Connor missing dinner for the fourth time before his conscience even had the chance to put the blame on him.

At the dining table Oliver ate silently, his thoughts lingering not too far from wherever Connor would’ve been, and as he looked across the table at the empty seat he felt it. Terrible, horrible familiarity; he’d gotten used to having his promises broken.

That was the exact moment he felt all of it slip away from him, all at once.

He stayed for a few more days, hoping to see a silver lining, but it never came. In its place stood realization, cold as ever.  

Hope was what kept him going; hope was what got him into this mess from the start. Hope was the feeble foundation their relationship was built on, but it was all they had, really.

And then as if it wasn’t already bad enough, Connor went and fucked another man.

**_Part iv: who_ **

It took a little getting used to, being his own person again.

It was more like the calm after the storm. He'd gotten used to the turbulence, and now that it was all well  again part of him wanted it back.

Maybe it’s because being in a relationship distracts him from himself—it’s hard to constantly have to give yourself pep talks (that don’t go anywhere).

As a person, Oliver has never felt complete. Like, he always felt as if he was missing a piece somewhere. Almost enough but just not. Poetic garbage aside it would be the crude term of having low self-esteem.

Maybe it isn’t as bad as it seems, maybe the fact that it happens to everyone is supposed to mean it matters  less (it doesn’t) but to Oliver it felt like a manifesting disease, and the more he thought about it the worse it would get.

Who was he, anyway?

The only things he could describe himself with were the traits he lacked. _I'm not the fittest, I'm not much of an achiever, I don't really do this, I'm not really good at that..._

In a way Oliver became the person Connor wanted to love, became that person who never got angry, who said all the right things and steered far from the wrong, became the boyfriend that waited past midnight, the one that didn't really complain much-and it was all his own fault.

Oliver stares at the computer screen and the dark blue glow it emits, and the lines of code are no longer lines of code; they’re text messages from Connor, missed calls from Connor, voicemails from Connor; Connor, Connor, _Connor_.

Could he really forgive him? Connor knew the type of man that Oliver was. He knew how to reel him right back even if he fucked him over a million times, and he did.

Forgiving him would mean walking back into a trap, forgiving him would mean letting himself feel vulnerable and weak—not enough. It would mean that he’d admitted that he was nothing without Connor.

The computer whirrs and buzzes, the firewalls and servers demanding to be fixed all at once and it becomes a montage of wails and of course it isn’t that simple—it’s a computer for christ’s sake.

The wailing derived from his head, more specifically his own voice, begs and pleas for him to just go back to whatever or whoever home was, it is too tired of fighting this urge.

Naturally, Oliver shuts the laptop and makes his way back to 303.

That night, he barely gets any sleep, with his mind elsewhere as it always is. The pandemonium in his mind fades off into a distant static, letting him off the hook.

Slumber doesn’t come without a price though, nothing does. The phone rings at 3 and doesn’t stop until 4, when Oliver tears himself away from his bed. The amount of misery left from the night before it weighs him down along with fatigue.

The phone rings again, the pesky little electrical monster.

Squinting, Oliver sees a familiar number on the screen, and he sighs because every ounce of pain from the day before is back at full force.

Connor’s name flashes above the number, and Oliver loses another battle in his mind as he answers the call. The phone call is a short one but it wakes him up. The _things_ Connor could say…

Someway and somehow, Oliver finds himself in Connor’s apartment and his mind is perplexed to find itself back at square one.

The bitter smell of beer is strong in the air as Oliver pushes the door open.

It smells like defeat and it seems that Oliver isn’t the only one having a tough time alone. Connor _looks_ defeated, with the amount of cans around him he did not look at the slightest okay.

At this point it’s almost satirical that Oliver feels nothing but hopeless. His feet stay rooted to the ground and he stares at Connor as all his defences fall to his feet. Connor had said that he had ‘figured it out’ and was apologizing profusely on the phone.

Granted, Oliver had expected to see much more than a drunk man in his apartment, fast asleep. There isn’t any anger left in Oliver for now, so he settles for some peace and quiet. In the dead of the night, Oliver looks at Connor, and he knows that it's there-under the anger, and the sadness and pain; there is still love. If it isn't, then this must be one hell of a friendship, if 3 am phone calls worked just as well as a summoning charm. 

For a few minutes he actually convinces himself to clean up the mess Connor made of himself, he even changes Connor out of his button-down and into an old tee shirt, tucking him into bed.

**_Part v: what (the following morning)_ **

The pavements gleam in the sunlight. Every step he takes in the direction home corresponds with the steps he took away from Connor.

So what is it that held him back?

When Connor had cheated, it felt like Connor had taken pieces of Oliver and had given them to another man just like that. Still he heard himself defending Connor for something so awful, so foul. He didn’t want to forgive him because to do that he had to first forgive himself, for feeling betrayed and so heartbroken. He beat himself up for it, feeling sad. As if he wasn't rightfully upset. 

He was an IT expert, he specialized in fixing things; yet the only thing he could not seem to mend was himself. It would be unbelievably inconsiderate to let Connor carry two burdens, not to mention himself. Trying to mend Connor would only mean doubling the casualties.

He couldn’t fix himself so he went from lover to lover, finding the missing piece, expecting them to make everything alright again.

He'd thought that maybe one day, someone would come along and just-change him. Like they do in movies, in books. Take away all his worries and fix him, sew his wounds together and kiss them all.

He’d been searching in all the wrong places. The missing parts of himself resided in him. They were his love and the way he loved—with passion, with pride. Didn’t he see? The only person who could complete him was himself. 

And the whole time he’d thought Connor was taking his love _from_ him…He was only learning to open up. Oliver was so preoccupied that he hadn’t taken anything in from Connor’s point of view—the fact that this exclusive relationship was something still fairly new to him.

Insecurity wasn’t his tragic flaw—his pride was. God, he’d been so fucking selfish.

The briefcase stays clutched in Oliver’s hand, but his knuckles have gone white and his mind is blank. His conscience is clear as he closes his door behind him.

All the answers and solutions are coming to him, all at once. 

The water from the showerhead pounds the man’s chest and under the steady splash of cold water is the sound of a heart waking up. The emotions that wash over him is a cocktail mixture of a heavy sense of guilt with an overflowing relief.

"This could all still work out if both of them were willing to try," Oliver says to himself. "this could still work." a little louder this time, more confident. 

Getting into bed seems to be the hardest thing to do when your head is just starting to rev up again, intrigued by its want to right all the wrongs there are.

He falls asleep at long last, with the bedside lamp still turned on, eyes getting the rest they’ve been deprived of.

It was the right decision, Ollie had decided. Leaving (both Connor and his apartment this morning) was the best thing he could have done. He was in no place to fix Connor given the circumstances. They both aren’t thinking straight right now, in each other’s presence it was too great a distraction.

Some time apart would suffice, hopefully.

The next day at work is a breeze. The lines of codes are no longer blurring together or doing anything they shouldn’t be.

Even his coworkers give him double takes as he walks in—must be the freshly laundered suit—and everyone seems shocked, even Oliver himself, when he accepts an invitation to lunch with his colleagues.

Everyday Oliver learns to forgive Connor more, even if he hasn’t formally apologized, ollie likes to believe that he will soon.

Oliver thinks of Connor still, but in his head it seems a lot more like a virtual checking-up-on than  longing, for the most part.

**_Part vi: where (2 weeks later)_ **

Oliver had all his missing pieces back and his life in order again. It feels good.

On a Saturday afternoon Oliver decides to treat himself to some ice cream he had been craving the whole week, and at the little parlor everything is nice and quiet as always, until the owner of the shop asks him about Connor.

The ice cream melts against the metal spoon and what was meant to be a chocolate triple deluxe looks like a chocolate avalanche.

At the mention of Connor’s name, Oliver is brought back into the memory of his first time visiting this parlor. Connor had insisted that ice cream was the best dessert and Oliver had given in, half unwillingly tagging along to the little unsuspecting ice cream parlor.

They had made countless trips there since, every time they failed to pick a proper place to eat.

The chocolate ice cream lacks taste without Connor around. Oliver looks around and everywhere he sees himself and Connor—laughing in a booth, arguing about tacos, talking about anything and everything.

Oliver takes his paper cup of ice cream and leaves the shop, intending to look for someplace quieter.

He takes a stroll around a park and walks past shop windows, but everywhere he goes, he sees Connor. On benches, in restaurants and bars…The chocolate ice cream ends up in the garbage and Oliver stays lost in thought.

It’s impossible to escape the pull in his stomach that is back and strong as ever; and this time Oliver doesn’t doubt it anymore. He’s certain of it—he misses him.

He’s everywhere. Oliver sees him everywhere because his subconscious _wants_ to.

Is it time yet? To go back to Connor and bask in everything that is him? Is it time yet to go back and finally, _finally_ make the amendments he’s been meaning to make?

Is it time yet to go…Home?

Miraculously, Oliver has ended up in front of Connor’s apartment again. His feet are starting to make his decisions for him now, it seems.

This is it then, he supposes. It must be time.

It has to be.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Better things are coming, I promise. The happy ending is near.
> 
> Talk to me on twitter @nonchalantiy / tHe tumblr intertwincd


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